


A Series of Interconnected Conversations

by walking_through_autumn



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_through_autumn/pseuds/walking_through_autumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not just any series. It’s the series. That series of a decade, of a century, of a, of a millennium!” </p>
<p>“About a man who runs around with a leaf on his crotch?” </p>
<p>“Yes! No! I mean, that’s not the point!” </p>
<p>A fic where Sinbad and Ja’far break up and everybody and their cats get involved. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of Interconnected Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Possible OOC-ness. Sinbad and Ja'far do not actually interact much in this fic. 
> 
> Notes: I found this in my laptop and cleaned it up a bit. Strange to see how writing style changes :)

_“It’s not just any series. It’s **the** series. That series of a decade, of a century, of a, of a **millennium**!” _

_“About a man who runs around with a leaf on his crotch?”_

_“Yes! No! I mean, that’s not the point!”_

\- Alibaba and Cassim, after school.

.

For as long as he could remember, Alibaba had been reading _The Chronicles of Sindria_ with a devotion not unlike Cassim’s to his dreadlocks. Or the tuft sticking out of Alibaba’s hair to, well, his hair. In any case, it was safe to say that he was a fan. Cassim called him a stalker, but Alibaba knew Cassim was just jealous that he was paying attention to someone else. So Alibaba tended to drape himself over Cassim and read _The Chronicles of Sindria_ aloud so Cassim wouldn’t feel lonely. He really never understood why Cassim always looked so annoyed. Cassim, he had decided, just didn’t have the taste for fine literature that Alibaba possessed, and being friends he had the duty to cure Cassim of that.

Then Alibaba met Kougyoku in high school, and Cassim succeeded in foisting Alibaba’s fanboying off onto Kougyoku. They instantly bonded when they spotted dog-eared copies of _The Chronicles of Sindria_ in each other’s hands. Kougyoku had been holding the second installment, which she claimed was the best. The princess of the Kou Empire had appeared then and had fallen in love with the dashing Sindrian king. Alibaba had been holding the first installment, which he still claimed was the best, because the Sindrian king was so cool in the Balbadd crisis. Through their debates they became fast friends, something Aladdin still pouted over to this day. Aladdin really didn’t like her, and Alibaba suspected it was because Vinea had chased after poor Ugo, still a kitten then, and Aladdin had to fish Ugo out of the dark recesses of his cabinet. Alibaba wished everyone could all be friends, and he just knew the secret to that lay in reading and admiring and loving _The Chronicles of Sindria_.

Alibaba wanted to be that kind of writer. In fact, he had secretly written his own story…a fanfiction might be the more accurate term. An off-spin of _The Chronicles of Sindria_ , working title: _The Adventures of the Balbadd Prince_. He had felt quite strongly for the prince, though his first love was still the Sindrian king. He had only ever read bits and pieces to Morgiana, who listened and nodded with the most solemn yet approving face Alibaba had ever seen on anyone. It was one late night when he was finally satisfied with his draft and saved it before dropping off to sleep. He thought it strange that his laptop was in the living room the next day, but nothing seemed to have been tampered with, and he had shrugged and started preparing for school.

It was about a month later when he received a letter inviting him to the Young Writers Programme, hosted by Leaf Tree, and he fainted about three times until Cassim slapped him awake and threatened to burn his invitation letter. Leaf Tree, incidentally, published _The Chronicles of Sindria_ , and Kougyoku refused to speak to him for all of five minutes before she caved and demanded photos and a second by second detailed account of how Sinbad sat and walked and ate and breathed. Alibaba said he might not even meet Sinbad, it was just the same publisher, and by the way did Kougyoku know who sent in his draft? Till this day Alibaba didn’t know who it was. His mother had perfected the innocent look, and she was his prime suspect.

Then he met Sinbad.

Alibaba wasn’t quite sure what he said that day. He was pretty sure “I’m a fan of yours” wouldn’t have stuck in the mind of the great Sinbad. But apparently Sinbad had been charmed, and Alibaba had been assigned Sinbad as his mentor, and Alibaba had been sure it was all a dream and that he would wake up to Amon digging his claws into Alibaba’s stomach and demanding food. But Amon and his claws were safely at home, in the company of Ugo and Aladdin and Morgiana, and he was there. Facing Sinbad’s blinding smile. And Sinbad was his mentor for two months. Alibaba wasn’t sure he even ate anything that day. He just looked at Sinbad the whole time.

Ja’far thought he was adorable. And also that Sinbad wasn’t worth Alibaba paying excessive attention to him. That was when Alibaba entered fanboy mode phase two, because standing right beside Sinbad was Ja’far, his editor. The editor of Alibaba’s bible. Alibaba blurted something, and they both laughed, and Alibaba realized he had said something like “I love you.”

Things were off to a pretty good start. And it wasn’t long before somehow, everybody knew everybody, and Alibaba had more contacts in his phone than he had at the beginning of high school. Amon seemed pleased too – Pisti was a first-class veterinary after all. Life went on after the dream-like mentorship – Alibaba had added to his draft since then, following Sinbad’s tips – and things continued to be good for a year, even when Cassim mercilessly teased Alibaba about his giant crush.

So when Alibaba sent off three messages for a lunch date (read: Kougyoku and Alibaba trying to wheedle out spoilers for the seventh volume of _Chronicles_ ), he was pretty sure his soul packed its bags and bade him a fond farewell when Ja’far replied:

_I’m no longer Sinbad’s editor. We broke up. Thanks for the invite, though._

.

_“Poor Ja’far. I bet it’s because Sinbad sucked in bed. Like, it’s been his secret all this while. And nobody ever knew.”_

_“But all those women – ”_

_“Maybe he paid them. To keep it a secret. Have you wondered why he never hit on us? We’re hot stuff. Anyways, they refused to tell us the real reason and all that, so we’re allowed to speculate.”_

\- Pisti and Yamuraiha, on their way to getting drunk.

.

To be fair to all their friends, they would have to tell them, Ja’far had told him.

It had been perhaps the last civil thing Ja’far would ever say to him. And it being the last civil thing, Sinbad had honoured it by telling those they were close to.

Which wasn’t to say information wouldn’t have leaked out to people Sinbad didn’t want finding out about this whole messy affair.

When Sinbad was rushing to meet a deadline and it was three in the morning, he would usually be in a zen-like mode where everything was funny and ice cream and pizza sounded like an excellent idea until Ja’far reminded him of his age. But when he was, like every other sane person, trying to get some sleep, three in the morning made him want to maim whoever is on the other side of the line.

He groaned, rising from a wasteland of crumpled tissues and empty bottles, dislodging Baal from his position on his back and freeing the remote control from under his stomach in the process. The television’s high-pitched whine was disapproving – apparently he had fallen asleep before _You’ve Got Mail_ had finished playing. Sinbad fumbled with the remote control until he managed to switch the television off before grabbing his phone.

“What?” he said, grimacing at his own breath and the beginnings of a hangover. He petted Baal on his forehead to quiet the cat’s concerned mewing.

“So I hear you’ve been dumped!”

Sinbad cut the call and flopped back into his pillow. It was wet from a combination of washed hair and tears. The phone rang again, Shakira’s sultry voice singing that same refrain over and over, something about hips not lying. Sinbad decided he has to change his password again to prevent Judal from laying his paws on it.

He sighed and picked it up. “Judal,” he said, too tired to be angry.

Judal laughed for a long minute, and at one point he choked on his laughter. Sinbad rolled over onto his side and hoped his glare can traverse phone lines and stab Judal in his head. Or his mouth. Whatever to make him stop laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” Judal said, sounding anything but. He chortled again. “So Kouen didn’t lie then. You really were dumped. Sindumb’s been dumped!” Judal then took a few more seconds to laugh at his own wit.

Sinbad rolled his eyes. “Not funny, Judal.” He paused then, trying to pick up on something more important. “Wait. How did Kouen know?”

“Does it matter?” Judal asked. Sinbad could feel him shrug. “He heard from Hakuei.”

“Hakuei?” Sinbad said, squawking a little. “I didn’t even speak with her!”

“Well, she heard from Hakuryuu?” Judal offered in a sweet tone, as though he was trying to be nice.

That made even less sense than Hakuei knowing. Sinbad suspected there was some insidious information network he did not know about, and he gave up trying to figure it out for now.

“Okay. So now you know,” Sinbad grumbled. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Judal crowed. “Just wanted to hear it with my own ears. Snake boy’s given up on you then~”

“Really not funny, Judal. And if that’s all, good night,” Sinbad said, curling further into his covers. A pile of tissues rained down on the floor.

Judal cackled, and Sinbad did not bother to wait for him to finish before ending the call and switching his phone off.

He rubbed his swollen and dry eyes before realizing that was not the smartest thing he could have done. Neither was face planting into his gross pillow. Sinbad sighed, curled himself around Baal, and tried not to cry again – he was twenty nine, for goodness sake – before sheer exhaustion pulled him back into a dream where he and Ja’far are skipping through flower fields together under a huge, arching rainbow.

.

Ja’far sighed. The last thing he wanted to see was a bright, cheery day, with a faint rainbow that the light morning shower had brought about. Or the incessant doorbell ringing through his apartment after a sleepless night. He scowled and thought up of creative ways to commit first degree murder. Perhaps with some sharp red string he has in his drawer, he thought as he opened his door without looking through the peephole.

“Oooh, there we go! Here comes the sun, la la la la~ Look at the sun, dearest Ja’far~”

Ja’far resisted the urge to throttle her. “Pisti. Good morning. What brings you here?”

Pisti laughed and squirmed around Ja’far into his apartment. “I’m here to cheer you up, silly! Let’s go pick out your clothes.”

“I do _not_ need cheering up,” Ja’far said, eyes narrowing.

“Of course you don’t,” Pisti agreed, though her eyes twinkled. She headed toward Ja’far’s bedroom and, along the way, frowned at his house for good measure. “This is like a murderer’s apartment, Ja’far. Why haven’t you gotten a couch? Where’s your dining table? I thought I sent you links to good shops.”

Links that Ja’far had conveniently put into a folder and forgotten. “Oops,” he deadpanned. “It’s my apartment, Pisti.”

“It spells out psychological disorder.” Pisti shuddered before she flung open his wardrobe doors. She appeared to stop breathing for a while before she managed to say, “Your wardrobe is a disaster.”

Personally, Ja’far thought his wardrobe was neat. He was proud of it. His work clothes hung in order, Mondays to Fridays, then two sets of casual clothes for the weekend, and the home clothes he was wearing. Pisti looked over the wardrobe again, very slowly, like she was hoping she had simply missed a corner bursting to the seams with clothes at first glance. Then she made a sound like she was physically in pain. “When was the last time you went shopping? You’re worse than Yamuraiha!”

Ja’far did not get the point. “What’s wrong with Yamuraiha?”

Pisti opened her mouth, then shut it with a grim look of determination. “Never mind. You’re both the same. There’s _nothing_ here for me to pick out.”

Ja’far shook his head. “I’m not quite sure what you’re hoping for, Pisti.”

Pisti didn’t answer him. She flung one of his casual, long-sleeved green shirt at him and a pair of black pants – which were his Saturday clothes in any case – and ordered him to go change. The way she was eyeing his room with a gleam in her eyes while Ja’far shuffled off to his bathroom made him wary. He wondered what state it’ll be in after he returns.

This really wasn’t how he envisioned his post-break-up-life to be.

.

_“Invite the poor man over.”_

_“I’m not sure that’s the best – ”_

_“I know you’re worried. And he’s probably eating his way through a mountain of cup noodles.”_

_“More like drinking his sorrows away.”_

_“I don’t care if you have to drag him by his hair. Make him talk. And make him do something about this.”_

\- Drakon and his wife, during dinner.

.

“No,” Sinbad said.

Drakon gave him a sympathetic but mostly annoyed look. The sympathy was barely there, if Sinbad was honest with himself.

“You’re impossible,” Drakon said.

“You’re annoying,” Sinbad said with feeling.

“What’s this, are you a five year old now? Just talk to him, for god’s sake,” Drakon said with a barely suppressed growl. “This is ridiculous. This has got to stop. You’re both as bad as each other.”

Sinbad pouted. He could still remember the argument, and it hurt, and his rival-turned-friend was not being sympathetic. He wanted somebody to be sympathetic. Was that too much to ask for? Preferably some wine too, to go along with the sympathetic ear. But all that sat in front of him was steaming hot tea prepared by Drakon’s loving wife. And while it was good, it was not as good as what Ja’far makes –

Okay, so that train of thought had to be stopped. He rested his head on the table, left cheek pressed against the surface, stared out the window, and he sighed. He sighed loudly.

“Oh god,” he heard Drakon mutter. “What did I do to get stuck with you? Did I murder somebody in my past life?”

“Yeah. Me. So the gods gave you another chance to make good.” Sinbad sat up straight. “Give me wine, good friend, and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”

Drakon snorted and poured himself another cup of tea. “The good wife confiscated the wine.”

“Damn.”

“She wanted us to talk. She wanted to make you talk.” Drakon, after all, believed that honesty is indeed the best policy.

Sinbad huffed. “There’s nothing to say. We broke up. It’s our personal business.”

Drakon’s eye twitched. He took a sip of tea and forced himself to calm down. Even now Sinbad still annoyed him like they were fifteen year old brats all over again, fighting over who gets to be team captain. “If you’re going to huff and sigh all over everyone you might as well tell us what actually happened? Talk like a human being?”

Sinbad made a face like he was torn between speaking and keeping the story under wraps. “It’s…not that easy,” he hedged.

If Drakon’s wife were here, she might have kept the sweet smile while she slipped truth serum into Sinbad’s tea. One of the many reasons why Drakon loves her. Drakon tapped his fingers on his cup and sent Sinbad his best no-nonsense look, perfected after years of learning from his wife. Sinbad flailed his hands around, dropped his head on the table twice more, mumbled and muttered a lot to himself, before he hunched his shoulders like a defeated puppy. Drakon could see his proverbial tail droop.

Something like relief mingled with dread welled up in Drakon, because he knew Sinbad. Sinbad wanted to talk, only he was convincing himself he shouldn’t, out of some warped loyalty to some sacred love god or whatever it was that Sinbad believed in. And once Sinbad talks, he would not stop talking. And Drakon wouldn’t be allowed to move. If he moved something might happen. Some catastrophe only Sinbad can imagine.

Maybe he should take this chance to use the toilet first. It was an awfully large pot of tea to finish.

.

_“Are we moving?”_

_“Uh…no?”_

_“Then what are you doing with all those books? Are you finally going to build your shrine? Wait, I need to take photos of this.”_

_“What? No, mum! It’s just…it’s just that I asked Ja’far over for tea tomorrow…”_

\- Alibaba and Anise, after Anise sees her son cradling a huge pile of books. All by the same author. First name starting with ‘S’.

.

Ja’far genuinely liked Alibaba. Alibaba had this wide-eyed honesty around him, and while that could and did make him the butt of everyone’s jokes (sometimes Ja’far liked to gently tease him as well), it was a soothing break to Ja’far. It also meant Alibaba was unable to hide the fact that this tea session was a desperate attempt to cheer him up. Ja’far wondered how to break it to Alibaba that he is not depressed. He thought he should mention how Pisti brought him out on a three-hour long arcade games outing (which had been unexpectedly cathartic), but the determination in Alibaba’s eyes made Ja’far keep quiet.

Alibaba had brewed some jasmine green tea. It was a little too strong – when Alibaba turned around to get some biscuits Ja’far, without a sound, added more hot water and placed the kettle back exactly where it had been. He looked around while Alibaba dug through his and Anise’s stash, and that was when he noticed the bookshelf. Or rather, the big gap on the bookshelf.

It was really obvious from where Ja’far was sitting. It was at Alibaba’s eye-level, and the books on fencing and on economics were falling sadly into the space like unsuccessful dominoes. Alibaba might be a messy teenager, but he treated his books with a cult-like devotion. Especially those of a certain author’s.

When Ja’far realized exactly what was missing, he was unsure whether to laugh or cry. He settled for a sort of twitch in his lips when Alibaba returned with a triumphant expression, earl gray biscuits in hand.

“Mum rearranged the pantry, and she doesn’t like these biscuits, so she pushed them to the back,” Alibaba said with a little huff.

Alibaba had the fickle taste of teenagers, so Ja’far couldn’t blame Anise for keeping Alibaba’s current favourite biscuits where he couldn’t find them. And he suspected she did it on purpose, because she loves to play with her son, even when she was at work. He accepted a biscuit and nibbled on it while Alibaba scooped Amon out of his seat and into his lap. The cat curled against Alibaba’s stomach, tail wrapping around his waist in contentment. He did remind Ja’far of Baal, and Ja’far wondered how he was, whether Sinbad was remembering to feed the cat –

Ja’far suppressed a sigh. Instead, he smiled at Alibaba and asked, “So, how had your day been?”

“Oh, it’s – it’s good! I have to tell you about what Cassim said, when our science teacher walked into class carrying this huge stack of notes – ”

Ja’far sipped his tea, nodded in the appropriate places while Alibaba regaled him with tales of riveting high school life, and eyed the gap. He kept his fingers tight around his cup to prevent them from twitching. Maybe two, or three minutes, and he would be able to rearrange that shelf. In order of subjects and authors too, if Alibaba would allow him to.

“And so Kougyoku and I went to the bookstore to get Sin – um, I mean,” Alibaba’s hands flailed and nearly knocked over his cup of tea, “just some books, and then we saw – ”

“Alibaba,” Ja’far interrupted with a smile. Really, he would have laughed, but Alibaba would pout, and Ja’far could only be so strong against that expression. It was kind of sweet, he thought, and a whole lot of pathetic for both him and Sinbad that a teenager thought he was forced to choose sides. “It’s okay. You can still be a fan of his books.”

Alibaba’s shoulders slumped. He rubbed Amon between his ears for a while before looking up with a sad, sad expression that made Ja’far want to bake cookies. “But that’s – I mean, I like both of you.”

“Yes?” Ja’far said, because while he appreciated that, really he did, Alibaba’s mind worked in ways he never quite understood.

“I didn’t want to make you upset, or anything,” he said with such an earnest expression Ja’far couldn’t bear to tell him that leaving a big gap, previously filled with Alibaba’s prized collection of Sinbad’s books, made Sinbad’s presence all the more obvious.

Ja’far smiled again. “I’m not upset. Not anymore.” He took another sip of tea while Alibaba rubbed a hand down Amon’s back. Amon flicked his tail and lifted his head, a yawn stretching his mouth and revealing a tiny pink tongue. The cat looked up at Alibaba, who was quiet, and who seemed to have forgotten how to smile.

“Don’t lie to me, Ja’far,” Alibaba said softly.

People ought to give Alibaba more credit, Ja’far thought as he shook his head and let the silence stretch on. He kept his eyes on the steam rising from the tea in slight curls.

“Ja’far?” Alibaba asked in a small voice.

“Yes?” 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but – is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s…it’s between the two of us, Alibaba. There’s nothing you need to do,” Ja’far said as gently and firmly as he can.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean…if you want to talk, or anything, I can listen.” Alibaba looked at him in all earnestness, eyes wide and bright like he was the one about to cry. “I don’t like to see any of my friends upset, and when I see you now I…it hurts a lot, because you’re in pain, and I don’t know what to do.” He clenched his fingers into a fist on the table. “I wish it could stop hurting for you.”

“Oh. Alibaba…” Ja’far whispered. He reached out a hand and placed it on top of Alibaba’s fist, letting it rest there. “I – thank you. But it’s going to hurt a while more.”

Alibaba nodded and gripped Ja’far’s hand. “I know.”

.

_“I wonder what they argued about…”_

_“Brother doesn’t know either.”_

_“Eh? Brother Masrur doesn’t know?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“It must be something serious…Alibaba said Ja’far didn’t say anything too.”_

_“Yes…but they’ll work it out.”_

_“Yeah! Somehow I get that feeling too!”_

_“Did you get the chocolate cookies?”_

_“Yep! Maybe with this Alibaba will cheer up!”_

\- Aladdin and Morgiana, on the way to Alibaba’s place for their weekend sleepover.

.

“This is bad.”

“Hmm.”

Sharrkan and Spartos examined the lump on the bed that was Sinbad. Focalor, Sinbad’s particularly feisty cat that Sharrkan was taking care of, pawed at where Sinbad’s head was and mewed.

“He’s useless without Ja’far.”

“I thought that has already been established,” Spartos said. He released Zepar onto the bed and watched with mild interest as the tawny cat sprung over to where Focalor was and joined him in tugging the blanket away from Sinbad. Their combined efforts did not overcome Sinbad’s death grip on the blanket. Baal watched from the foot of the bed with a certain resignation. “I don’t know what Drakon was hoping for.”

“Weeeell, he does have a point. Maybe getting Sinbad to write will distract him for a bit,” Sharrkan said. He strode over to the head of the bed, shooed the cats away, and gripped the blanket. “Gimme a hand.”

Spartos sighed and gripped the blanket on the other end. At Sharrkan’s signal they pulled up the blanket with force, rolling Sinbad onto the floor. Sinbad emitted a high-pitched squeal.

“There you are!” Sharrkan said with a huge beam. “You can’t hide away forever!”

Sinbad groaned from his graceless sprawl on the floor. Focalor leapt from the bed onto the floor and started tugging at Sinbad’s hair with a delighted mew. “Have I mentioned how much I hate you?” Sinbad muttered in a hoarse voice.

“Everyday!” Sharrkan said. “Spartos made food, and you’re going to eat that, and then you’re going to write, because everyone’s waiting for the seventh volume!”

“No. I can’t write.”

Sharrkan gasped. It was complete with a scandalized hand-at-mouth motion. “And let down all your readers? The seventh volume, where Sindria is at the brink of war with the Kou Empire! The Sindrian king is going to show his might and glory. Aren’t you excited for that?”

“No.” Sinbad refused to move from his face-down sprawl, even after Zepar started scratching at his back.

“You know…you could apologize, if it’s something you said,” Spartos suggested.

“Spartos,” Sharrkan hissed, glaring at the calm man. On the floor Sinbad twitched and curled into a ball.

Spartos shrugged. “Getting him to write isn’t working, is it?”

“Yeah, but we were supposed to distract him – ”

“ – me…”

Both of them looked at the figure on the ground. “Eh?” Sharrkan said. “Sorry, could you say that again?”

“He hates me…” Sinbad said with a sniffle.

Spartos exchanged a glance with Sharrkan. Drakon had said that the long and short of it was Sinbad and Ja’far having a heated argument with each other during a particularly stressful meeting, which culminated in them saying things that should not be said to each other. According to Drakon there had been a lot of blubbering and choked sobs and in the end he hadn’t been able to pry out of Sinbad what exactly he had said to Ja’far, only that it was serious enough for them to break up, and Drakon could only advise him to speak with Ja’far about it instead of getting on everyone’s nerves.

“It would help if you let us know what you said,” Spartos reasoned. He found a spot on the floor clear of tissues and cats and sat down. “Then we can tell you whether Ja’far really hates you – ”

“What Spartos really means is that Ja’far can’t possibly hate you!” Sharrkan said, loud and bright.

“That’s not what I – ”

“It can’t be that bad, _right_?” Sharrkan said with another pointed glare at Spartos.

Spartos sighed. “Right.”

“ – sive midget…”

“…you’ve got to speak up, Sinbad,” Spartos said. He pried Zepar off Sinbad’s back and Focalor off his hair, rubbing both cats’ backs to keep them quiet and contented. They curled into a huge ball of fur in his lap.

“I said, I called him an anal-retentive obsessive-compulsive midget who has no sense of fun!” Sinbad wailed.

“Oh,” Sharrkan said.

There was silence for about five seconds until Sinbad rolled over to face them with a horrified look.

“It’s terrible, right?! He won’t ever forgive me! He _hates_ me!”

“No, we didn’t say that!” Sharrkan said, waving his arms about in a frantic motion. “In fact, uh, how should we put this…”

“You say that almost every other week to Ja’far, so it can’t be that serious,” Spartos said.

“Yeah, that!”

“Meaning that you must have said something worse for both of you to break up.”

“ _Spartos!_ ”  

“But I don’t know what else it could have been!” Sinbad clutched at his hair, looking every bit a crazed, agonized man. “I mean, one minute he was telling me to get on with my work, the next I was telling him we both need a break and that he needs to have some sense of fun, then he said the deadline had been set and he was sorry if his personality was not to my liking but really it was my work ethic that was the issue, then I said if he wanted someone with better work ethic he could jolly well leave instead of forcing himself to stick with me and then he threw a book at me and said he was a fool for staying with me and he _left_!”

“… _oh_ ,” Sharrkan said.

“ _What?_ What was it I said?!” Sinbad looked from one to the other, face going paler by the second. Sharrkan scratched his cheek and averted his gaze. “What?!”

Spartos patted Sinbad on the shoulder and said, very gently, “Sinbad. Did you really tell Ja’far that he could leave instead of forcing himself to stay by your side?”

“Y-yeah! I mean, he’s so stressed all the time and he keeps complaining about how I’m lazy…he must want someone who is more on task…but he probably forced himself to stay because of duty…or something…” Sinbad mumbled.

“…have you thought about why Ja’far stayed with you?” Spartos asked in a firm voice.

“...”

Spartos nodded like he had already known as much. “Think about it. Then go talk to him.”

“…he won’t want to talk to me,” Sinbad whispered.

“…um,” Sharrkan said, awkward and uncertain. Both Spartos and Sinbad looked at him.  “Um, you guys probably said some not very nice stuff to each other but…do you hate Ja’far?”

“What? No!” Sinbad said, looking offended that Sharrkan even thought that was possible.

Sharrkan nodded and grinned. “So why do you think Ja’far hates you?”

“I…but I…” Sinbad spluttered, then hunched in on himself. “I…”

“Give him some credit, man.” Sharrkan patted Sinbad on the shoulder with more force than Spartos. “ _Talk to him_.”

.

“The thing is, I’m not even really mad at him anymore,” Ja’far said. He hiccupped and took another gulp from his glass.

Masrur nodded, taking a controlled sip from his own glass of beer.

“I’m not surprised, you know? He’s just the type of person to _not_ think. He’s always been like that. The stubborn idiot.” Ja’far frowned at the glass which he had just emptied of beer and reached for the bottle. The third one of the night. As he poured the liquid into his glass he muttered, “And he can’t fucking take care of himself.”

“Yeah.”

“He thinks he can do everything by himself, you know? Like that stupid block-headed optimism of his will make everything fine even when it is fucking three hours before the deadline. And he will still laugh and say things will be fine and he pats me on the head like I’m still a fucking child who needs to be comforted. Isn’t that grand of him, huh, huh?”

Masrur nodded, eyeing the way Ja’far was gulping down everything in his glass and steadily turning red.

Ja’far slammed the glass down on the table and said, “And he has the gall to say he doesn’t need me anymore. Well, guess what, I don’t have to stay either, if he thinks I’m a bother to his _having fun_. He can go on to write his novels and find someone more fun to be with and it’ll be better for both of us.”

“Right…” Masrur said. He reached out and lightly placed his hand on Ja’far’s back.

Ja’far scowled at his glass as Masrur started rubbing his back. His expression softened when Furfur twined himself around Ja’far’s ankles and mewed at him. The cat leapt into Ja’far’s lap, butting his head against Ja’far’s chin. “I hope he remembers to feed Baal. Baal can probably go hunt for himself, but he’ll probably stick around because he’s loyal to Sinbad like that…do you think he’ll remember to feed Baal, Masrur?”

Masrur hummed and considered his glass. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, huh…he’s such an idiot, he’ll probably forget to feed himself, and then he’ll order in pizza and eat until he’s sick. He’s supposed to be writing the last few chapters of the seventh volume too…do you know what he said he’s gonna write about, Masrur?”

Masrur continued rubbing Ja’far’s back. Ja’far hiccupped, then pressed his cheek against Furfur’s head.

“He said he was gonna end with one of the Sindrian king’s followers saving him during the conflict with the Kou Empire…because he wanted to show readers that it’s okay to not stand alone and it’s okay to rely on others.”

“That’s nice.”

Ja’far chuckled a little, voice wet. “Yeah…but the problem is he probably hasn’t written it yet. Probably gallivanting somewhere and having fun…since he’s now free of me…”

“Hmm…”

“You sound, mm…what’s that word? Disbelieving?”

“Do I?”

Ja’far nodded, rubbing his cheek against Furfur and drawing a pleased mew. “Yeah. You think, mm…you think Sin is having fun now?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you check?”

“Don’t wanna…he’s happy to not hear from me, that big…blockhead…idiot.” Ja’far drew in a small breath and smiled. He whispered, “I don’t think he’ll miss me.”

“Hmm.”

Masrur waited until Ja’far’s breath became slow and even, then he fetched a blanket from the cupboard and wrapped it around his shoulders. That done, he unlocked Ja’far’s phone, scrolled down his contact list, and left the phone screen on Sinbad’s contact.

.

_“Hey, brother. Doesn’t that mean the seventh volume won’t be released in time?”_

_“Who knows.”_

_“Ah~ you’re so cold. You’re really not interested in the story at all?”_

_“Eh, I’ll be forced to listen to it anyway.”_

_“Hmm…I thought the bookstores will remove the promotion posters for sure, but they’re still there.”_

_“Who cares. Probably means it’ll be released anyway. I dunno why everyone’s so interested in a man with a leaf on his crotch…”_

\- Mariam and Cassim, lounging at home eating ice cream.

.

Sinbad heaved a great sigh. After two hours of cleaning his apartment looked a lot more presentable. The tissues had been dumped, the pizza boxes cleared, Baal properly fed, and his laptop unearthed from the couch. His head still felt stuffy and his eyes itched, but at least he was showered and in clean clothes now. He felt like he can face this world again.

Sitting down on the bed, he gazed at his mobile phone and took his time to scroll to the contact he wants. It would be easier if he used speed dial…but he needed to give himself some mental preparation.

Baal leapt onto the bed, padding around him and leaning on his arm, watching the proceedings with curiosity.

“Think he’ll talk to me, old man?” Sinbad asked Baal. Baal stared back at him, tail swishing back and forth.

“Okay…okay. Give me courage, yeah?”

Baal nudged his hand that was holding the phone. Sinbad chuckled and pressed on the call button.

He could feel his heart thumping as the phone rings on. Ja’far was a man who carried his phone everywhere he went, there was no reason for him to not pick up unless…Sinbad squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the worst outcome.

There was a click. Sinbad held his breath.

“… _hello_ ,” said a voice Sinbad hadn’t heard in a week.

Sinbad let out the breath he had been holding and said, with a small smile, “Hey, Ja’far. Can we talk?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!


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